“You little wildcat,” he snarls, his eyes blazing. “You want to play rough? Let’s play rough.”
His hand flies to my throat again, but this time there is no gentle squeeze. Cassian’s fingers wrap around my neck in a tight, constricting band that makes my head spin. The world narrows to the feel of him inside me, the pressure on my windpipe, and the look in his eyes. He’s not playing anymore. This is real.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growls, his voice a raw, ragged sound. “To feel me claim every inch of you? To be at my mercy?”
I can’t answer. I can only moan, a weak, breathy sound. The lack of air combined with the relentless pounding of his cock is a dizzying, intoxicating cocktail of sensation. My body is no longer my own. It is a vessel for his pleasure, a canvas for his rage.
“You’re mine,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, more forceful. “This cunt is mine. This throat is mine. You are mine.”
He releases my throat and I drag in a ragged, desperate breath, my vision swimming. But before I can fully recover he’s moving again, pulling out of me with a slick, wet sound. He flips me over with a brutal, dismissive strength, hauling my hips up until I’m on my knees. My face is buried in the rough wool of the mattress.
“Stick your ass out,” he commands, his voice tight with control. “Arch your back. Yeah, just like that.”
I comply, my body trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He enters me from behind with a single, powerful thrust that sends a jolt of pure pleasure through me. He’s even deeper this way, the angle hitting a spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Fuck,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips so tight I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow. “You feel so fucking good. So fucking tight. This cunt is perfect.”
He sets a punishing pace, the slap of his skin against mine a sharp, rhythmic percussion in the small room. One of his hands leaves my hip and then I feel a sharp, stinging slap on my ass cheek. The impact sends a fresh wave of slick heat through me.
“Like that?” he asks, his voice a low, mocking taunt. “Like being spanked like a naughty little girl?”
I can only moan in response, my fingers clutching at the blanket beneath me. He does it again, harder this time, the sound echoing in the silence.
“Answer me,” he demands, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back. “Do you like it when I spank you?”
“Yes!” I gasp, the word torn from my throat. “Yes, I like it.”
A dark, triumphant laugh rumbles in his chest. “Of course you do. You love being put in your place. You love being my little slut.”
His words are a humiliating, thrilling balm and I can feel myself spiraling, the pressure inside me building to an unbearable peak. He’s driving me toward a cliff, and he’s not letting up. He’s going to make me jump.
“Come for me,” he commands, his thrusts growing more erratic, more forceful. “Come all over my cock. Now.”
The command breaks something inside me. The dam bursts, and a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over me, so intense it borders on pain. It’s a brutal, forced orgasm, ripped from my body without my consent. My back arches, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my body convulses around him, the spasms so strong they steal my breath. I feel my gushing hot fluid soaking him, me, the mattress.
“Fuck, yeah,” he growls, his voice a raw, ragged sound of satisfaction. “That’s it. Soak my fucking cock. Good girl.”
He doesn’t stop. He continues to pound into me, drawing out the pleasure until it’s almost too much, a blinding, overwhelming force. My body is a limp, quivering mass, but he’snot done with me yet. He pulls out and I feel a moment of loss, of emptiness.
He flips me over again, my limbs heavy and uncooperative. I’m a ragdoll in his hands, a plaything for his pleasure. He kneels between my spread legs, his gaze raking over my flushed, sweat-slicked body.
“You’re a fucking mess,” he says, a twisted, adoring look in his eyes. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the slick, swollen folds of my cunt, gathering the wetness there. He brings his glistening fingers to my lips. “Taste yourself. Taste how much you love this.”
I open my mouth and he slides his fingers inside, coating my tongue with my own essence. The taste is musky, intimate, a stark reminder of my own wanton surrender.
“You like that?” he asks, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “You like tasting your own slutty juice?”
I can only nod, my eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.
He shifts, moving up my body until he’s straddling my chest. His cock is hard and heavy, a thick, imposing length of flesh, glistening with my arousal. He wraps a hand around it, stroking it slowly.
“Open wide,” he commands. “I’m gonna fuck that pretty little throat again.”
I obey, my mouth falling open. He guides the head to my lips, but he doesn't enter me. He leans down, his face inches from mine. "You've been such a good girl, Aria. Taking my cock like you were made for it. You're going to get a reward."
He straightens up, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He starts stroking himself faster, his fist a blur of motion, the sounds of his pleasure filling the room. My gaze is locked on his face, on the raw, unguarded need I see there.
“Gonna paint this pretty face with my cum,” he growls, his hips thrusting into his own hand. “Gonna mark you as mine. Make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”
